To Tell The (T)Ruth
by BixIsHere
Summary: Canon divergence for 3x22: Emma and Hook steal the dress from a very specific village and encounter a lonely widow, who Emma might have a deeper connection to... An encounter that changes her perspective. (No established CS, but Killian is present)


**AN: Hello and welcome! Thanks for reading my stuff. This was inspired by obsessing over the movie Anastasia, and Anya's similarities to Emma, and that Anya meets her Grandmama...**

 **I had the absolute joy to have theonceoverthinker as a beta. It was my first experience with a beta, and she really helped me call out plot holes and find better ways to say things. Thank you so much!**

 **As for the fic, I took some dialogue from the show, and the characters as well (duh).**

* * *

"Is this really necessary?"

Still fiddling with the laces and fabrics, Emma stumbled over the forest ground.

"What would you have done if Regina had spotted you back there?" Hook shot back. Fair question. But none Emma couldn't answer.

"My guess? Run."

Which is exactly what they had done anyway. They had traced the road from the village outside of the forest – always staying a good hundred feet besides the path, of course. At the outskirts of the forest, they had found a few houses huddled together, and some clothing flattering in the wind. Hook picked what he deemed wearable and sent her back into the forest, so Emma could change.

"And even if we had, she'd seen you. She might remember you when you first arrive in Storybrooke."

"She's gonna remember a glimpse of a face 30 years from now?"

Not that Emma had that life experience. While she had passed her thirtieth birthday, if one asked her to recall anything from thirty years ago, she'd be left unable to. Hell, 30 years ago, she probably hadn't known what a face even was! But even still, what Hook was suggesting to her seemed unlikely, even considering that Regina was a full grown woman.

"The point is to minimize you making a lasting impression. Sadly, red leather jackets don't come into vogue here. Ever."

Oh, her jacket. Emma already missed wearing it. How regrettable that she had to exchange that comfortable and well accustomed armor for some dress from another realm. Quite the uncomfortable dress, if she may add.

"Fine. The only lasting impression I'm concerned about right now, is what this corset is making on my spleen."

"How dare you steal from your fellow men?"

A new voice rang, and cold shock settled in Emma's gut. So much for not making an impression. She whirled around to find an elderly woman there, the owner of the voice. With her hands on her hips. Anger radiated off her, giving her a sense of authority, despite her shortness.

Emma swallowed.

"Excuse us, milady!" Hook spoke up. "We were merely in a desperate situation, and we, uh, had no choice."

"Then to steal clothes?" the woman pressed.

"Yes, you see, we have been ambushed, and the lady has lost any presentable clothing," he said.

Emma was impressed with his improv skills, really, but she couldn't tell if this was doing anything for them. The stranger seemed to agree, as she shook her head in disapproval.

"Must have been a precious dress, then. Why didn't you just ask me for help?"

Hook shot a puzzled look to Emma. So much for improvisation. But lucky for them, getting someone to believe a cover was everyday work for a bail bonds person. In her experience, it was easier to go with as much truth as possible.

"We can't risk making contact – we're here incognito. It's best for us and everyone if we stay hidden," she said, and put on what she hoped to be a contrite smile. "Apparently we're not very good at that."

For a moment, there was only a bird deep in the woods and Emma's beating heart, as the woman mustered her.

"Fine," the woman sighed. "Come on in, give a lonely widow some company, and I'll warm you up a cup of tea." And with that, she turned and walked back to her log.

Relief settled in Emma. At least they weren't going to be reported to the police – or whatever band of soldiers reined the small criminals in these regions. There was a sheriff in the Robin Hood tale, right?

Hook interrupted her thoughts.

"That's very forthcoming, but we really..."

"No discussion – I've seen you now anyways, it's too late to save me from whatever danger that means," the woman shouted ever her shoulder.

Emma started after the woman, but Hook halted her by dragging her arm.

"Swan," he hissed, "Where do you think you're going?"

He looked quite distressed. And worried.

"To get some refreshments and maybe direction for Rumple's castle? I mean, I don't have a GPS for around here."

She had hoped to lighten the mood a little, but the pleading look on Hook's face remained.

"And what about making no lasting impressions?"

"She's seen us anyway. I feel like we'd have a bigger impact not accepting her offer. Besides, she said she's alone. We can convince her to just never talk about us because of our incognito, and she'll move on."

Hook sighed. "You're not from a world of magic, Emma. But I am. We need to be very cautious. The smallest of changes could have catastrophic consequences!"

Emma could have guessed that was coming - she had seen enough movies about time travels. But yet, something pulled her towards the woman.

"I get that – but my gut feeling is A-OK with following her. And … _do_ you know where to find the Dark Castle?"

Finally, his resistance dropped.

"No. Well, I know where the Castle lies, but I couldn't figure out our own location yet." Another heavy sigh escaped him. "Fine, Swan, I trust your gut. But mark my words. She cannot discover who we are, and we need to leave as soon as possible."

With that, Hook passed Emma and staggered after the woman.

 _Right. Follow the lady, drink a tea and get directions to Rumplestiltskin, all the while not spilling our true identity. Another day in the life of the Savior._

"Coming, love?"

"Of course."

* * *

So here Emma was, in the Enchanted Forest, in the freaking past, in a corset, watching a widow brew tea in her little shepherd cabin. She knew exactly why she had wanted to get to New York as soon as possible. _Because freak trips like these don't happen there_.

"You really shouldn't have, love. It's dangerous if we're here," Hook tried one last time.

The woman chuckled, and something about the noise was familiar to Emma. Maybe people in the Enchanted Forest chuckled differently than in her world? "And you shouldn't have stolen. I don't fear danger; I have nothing left to fear for. All I am left with is my kindness, so grant me to show you some. In exchange for not selling you out on the dress you stole from the villagers, I suppose," she said and placed cups in front of them. The liquid inside them steamed and spread an herb-heavy scent across the room.

Despite the weirdness and the pressing issue of finding a way home, Emma found herself curious about this woman's story. So far, all she knew was that she occupied this little farm on her own.

"Did Regina take everything else from you?"

Hook's good hand tightened around his cup, and the widow was quite startled as well. What now?

"No, it wasn't _the Queen_ I owe my losses to. It was quite my own doing in a desperate moment." Her gaze trailed out the window, and her fingers fiddled in the space above the top of her palm. Emma had seen that gesture on many bail jumpers: reaching for a ring that used to sit on the finger. For a lot of them, it became an unconscious gesture, triggered by guilt over leaving their families. The widow's finger was bare of a ring as well, and Emma wondered why she stopped wearing it. Before she could lose herself to the thought, the woman's attention snapped back to her visitors. "The two of you must've traveled from a far off kingdom if you dare to speak her name so easily."

Of course. In regret, Emma bit her lip.

"Quite perceptive, lass," Hook barged in, and the endearment earned him another chuckle from the woman. Emma was again struck with the familiarity of the sound, and of the way her eyebrows rose over blue eyes in regarding Hook.

"And we'd like to return there as soon as possible," Hook replied. "We require a direction, though. Might you be able to point us the Dark One's Castle?"

The woman was again taken aback. They really weren't good at this minimal impressions thing.

"You want to get mixed in with the Dark One? Oh, I'd rather you set out to pay pirates for your journey - anything but getting involved with him. His service comes at a high price, take it from me. A deal with him is why I lost both of my sons and my husband, one after the other." Again, she reached for the bare finger. "Is there no other way for you?"

Hook shook his head. "I'm afraid not. We require his magic for our trip back home."

 _Home_. Emma almost jumped at the word. Did he have to bring _that_ into this? Was that how he viewed Storybrooke? Why? He didn't even have his ship in the town. Emma's mind wandered to the mess she had left behind – Henry, the Storybook, and her parents. Merely an hour ago she had exclaimed that she had never been part of any of the stories in that book, and now she was walking the landscape. Now, she had seen her mother's wanted poster on a tree. If they weren't careful, they could run into one of them.

She wondered if she'd recognized them. Sure, they were only a few years younger, but those years had been impactful.

What did Mary Margaret look like with long raven hair? Did David already have his scar?

Absentmindedly, Emma had studied the woman's face across the table. But thinking of David, something in her mind clicked.

But what?

The click set a clockwork in motion and suddenly Emma knew why the widow's chuckle and the blue eyes were so familiar. A shepherding widow on a farm, who lost two sons to Rumplestiltskin and used to wear a ring around her finger. A ring she entrusted to her last son, so it would lead him to true love.

 _It wasn't until I saw her with my mother's ring on her finger, that I knew._

"You're her," Emma breathed.

Both turned, surprised at the exclaim; interrupted in their discussion.

"Swan?"

"Who am I?" the widow asked.

"You're David's mother."

Within an instant, Ruth jumped up and a knife was pointed towards Emma, who in turn forgot to be scared. She marveled at the fact that yes, jumping to weapons ran in the family.

"Who told you, and what does he want?" the senior demanded.

Hook just groaned.

"No one – well." Emma racked her brain. What could she say without giving away too much? "David did," she blurted.

The knife shook, but wasn't yet lowered.

"We met David and he trusted us with his tale… and …" Emma knew she wasn't making any sense. Her father hadn't been allowed to share his secret, why would he trust two strangers with it? And why would said strangers travel by so closely on chance?

"We told you we're dangerous people. Do you really want to know how we possess such information?"

Again, Emma was impressed with Hook's competence of pretend. The question was spoken in a low voice, as a secret, but also as a threat. The widow – Ruth – didn't fail to impress either.

"Of course I do," she said firmly. Only the shaking knife indicated her distress.

Emma turned to Hook, to exchange a look. Of course, his face was hard and cold. _She cannot discover who we are,_ echoed in her mind. And he was right. Even if this was her grandmother, she wasn't allowed to tell the truth. Emma didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. After all, family and teary I-never-knew-you-existed-reunions weren't her field of expertise. Yet, it was quite frustrating to sit across of a grandmother she had never dreamed of meeting and to not be able to properly reach out at the same time.

He must have sensed that frustration. His brow softened, only the slightest bit. Hadn't she studied his mimic so furiously, she would have missed how a muscle in his jaw twitched in release. It seemed he allowed her; not to tell the whole truth, but as much as she deemed good.

She turned to Ruth again, and cleared her throat. As much truth as possible without blowing the cover, without naming the unbelievable. _Hi granny, I'm your granddaughter from the future, your son's love child with the run-away Princess accused of treason and thievery._

"We know the future." That seemed like a healthy dose of truth. "We were briefly in King George's services, but now we must return to our kingdom."

Ruth studied her for a long moment. Then, she placed the knife on the table.

"So you have magic," she said.

"Sorta…," Emma lamely said. "We do," she corrected herself then; _We had access to a time portal, we're just not able to control it._

"Tell me, then. Will I ever see him again?"

Hook barged in. "We can't …"

"Will I?" Ruth demanded, even more fiercely than before.

Another glance was exchanged between him and Emma. He talked again, with a quite tone.

"Knowing the future is a delicate and perilous thing. The knowledge could lead you to a completely alternated path from the one you were supposed… from the one we see."

He fixed her after he finished. She seemed frozen under his gaze. They _really_ weren't good at not making impressions.

Eventually, she melted down on her seat again. She rubbed over her forehead in defiance. "At least tell me this: Will he be happy?"

None of them had the heart to speak. For one, they didn't know if they should reply – Emma also found it quite difficult to find a proper answer. Was her father happy? Their life was filled with obstacles, with problems and with pain. In the past eighteen months alone, he had been poisoned, separated from his daughter, lost his heart and his memories, and found himself threatened by the Wicked Witch and her winged minions.

"Yes," she whispered.

Ruth's eyes met hers, and a wistful joy entered them. "He will find love, and build a home?"

"He will." Emma had to swallow tears before continuing.

 _Home_.

Pictures of her family filled her mind. Henry's confusion at the thought of leaving Storybrooke. The hurt in both David's and Mary Margaret's faces. Her parents, who had found love, and a family, and a _home_ in Storybrooke, and expected Emma to be a part of it. Not because she was forced to stay, but because she was welcome to; because she was family. Even though she hadn't felt like that in the last weeks. _No, scratch that._ It had. She just hadn't wanted to admit it.

Emma looked at Ruth, and all she saw was a mother wishing the best for her son. It was all ahead of David – to meet Snow White, to marry her, to fight, and to win a place he could call home for his family. A lot of loss was ahead of him as well. And a lot of finding what was lost.

She recognized what Ruth felt. It was what she felt for Henry. It was what she had wanted someone to feel for her; her whole life she had longed to experience that kind of love.

What she had with David and Mary Margaret – with her parents – was different from what she expected. It was a lot harder than her childhood fantasies, partly because it was real. In reality, she had walls, and she had scars on her heart. In reality, she couldn't just let go of old experiences and trust new people. In reality, all she knew was running, and waiting for some part of her to miss what she'd left.

And in this reality right here, where she stared into her grandmother's eyes, something inside her surprised her.

She wanted to return, she wanted to tell her parents about this.

She finally answered: "He will find love, and a family. He will find a home."

* * *

Soon after that, Emma passed the flock of sheep her father used to watch over, onwards to the Dark Castle. Hook followed closely, mindful to not disturb her thinking.

They had Ruth swear to never speak of their encounter to anyone, and to try and forget they ever visited her. It was all they could do to ensure her life remained as close as possible to what it was meant to be. It was hard to walk away from her, but it was best for both of them. Once they had struck their deal with Rumplestiltskin – Emma had to remind herself not to address him as Mr. Gold – they would return to Storybrooke, and hope the timeline stayed untouched.

And maybe, Emma thought, maybe she wouldn't run to New York then. Maybe she had already run far enough.

 _He will find love, and a family. He will find a home._

And maybe, that wasn't just true for him.

* * *

 **AN: Thank you again for reading! I'd love to know what you think... Your comment is welcome!**


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